Into Dust
by MerkinViolet
Summary: His reveal had been carefully planned, but everything comes crashing down when she sees something she's not supposed to. Now Marilee knows Tom's greatest secret. The rules have changed and two people stand across from one another, both wondering what the right choice is. If there is any choice. Love and power, after all, don't generally mix. Tom/OFC In Progress
1. Chapter 1

It was the kind of mistake that left a sickening feeling inside of her. Dread—pure dread. Because once Tom decided something was his, he never let go, and there was nothing she wanted more. To be free. To go back in time and repair events that should never have occurred. Rectify them, obliterate them, make a future for herself in which darkness and suffering weren't the only constants.

But.

This wasn't fixable. And all she had left was time—time to count down, to monitor, to wile away until _he_ came and collected her.

Snowflakes drifted gently down from the sky, a few colliding with the window and sliding down its frosted surface until they, too, disappeared into the blanc sol that covered the landscape. The fire crackled innocently in its hearth and Marilee turned her unseeing gaze upon it. A few strands of her elaborately coiffed hair fell into her face but she made no move to replace them. It wouldn't be long now.

So deep was she in her reverie that it wasn't until he stood directly behind her that she noticed his presence. Instinctively, she stiffened, wondering what retribution he would exact. For this, there was no precedence. There had never been a dark truth forcibly revealed between them. Of course, she hadn't meant to walk into the room that she had. Neither had she purposely stood there, pale and shaking, watching a horrific act that would never erase itself from her memory. It was as though fate had intervened, had made an executive decision that it was, indeed, time that she knew who he was and what he did those long nights he stayed away.

"Marilee," he greeted her, finally, his tone nothing but calm. But to say it was just that would be misdirection, for his voice was always something _more_ than its cold, deep cadence first appeared to be. It was a thousand different things—whatever he needed it to be, whatever its listener desired it to be, if he were so gracious as to bestow upon them that gift. And he could, and he did. It was a matter of fact that Tom could talk nearly anybody into nearly anything.

On good days, when he spoke to her, it was like a velvety caress, something both reassuring and exciting. During their less positive moments, it became frozen and commanding, the cool grip of his authority making itself known in a way that often had her totally compliant. That was a rare time. But now, as he spoke her name, a shiver made its way down her spine. Anger. There was anger in his tone. And angry was something he had never been with her. Irritated, frustrated—plenty of times. But Tom's anger wasn't for her, never for her. Until now.

Marilee wasn't talkative by nature, and in fact suffered from flashbacks of her childhood stutter during times of great stress. She knew Tom loved the visible vulnerability that defect entailed. It was, of course, always a power play with him. Not a game in which she engaged regularly, but there were times that he couldn't help himself and she had to respond. In this moment, it would be a grievous misstep to fumble any words. The game hadn't just changed—it was unrecognizable, and Marilee didn't know what safe was anymore.

It was to her great shame, then, when she took that misstep.

"T-Tom."

Her eyes shut rather quickly; her hands clenched into fists. He took a step closer to her and fear announced itself in her chest with a painful twinge. There was no more fire, no more snowstorm, no more anything but _him_. As usual, Tom consumed whatever space he inhabited, his presence so powerful that whatever room he stepped into turned itself into a backdrop. Were there any other people in the room all their attention would now be upon him. That was just him. That was Tom.

"Marilee," he repeated, his tone much softer, making its way through her ears and into her bones.

She truly trembled now, a constant shaking that could not be willed away. In her mind she cried out to any deity that listened to save her, to whisk her away from the evil wizard behind her. Because she was not strong enough to walk away. It wouldn't take long to talk her down. She knew it. He knew it. But the question was, what she wasn't sure of, was did he still want her?

"I thought I told you," he started, now so close that he was on the precipice of touching her, "never to run from me."

Marilee gave no response because there was none. He made statements such as these when beginning what she called "rhetorical lectures," something meant to simultaneously provoke and subdue. Unfair, though true facts that he delicately manipulated into working toward his favor no matter the situation. He knew that anyone with a whit of common sense would have fled at the sight of a fellow classmate being tortured on the floor of a dark room full of robed, masked figures. But that wasn't the point—and there was a point.

_Tom_ was in control. Best not to forget.

Her eyes opened, albeit slowly, when she felt him remove her wand from her hand. Just a quick pull and it slid out of her grasp to be safely hidden within his robes. A part of her scoffed at his pre-emptive action. Like she would ever be so out of control that she would dare duel him. Or even want to. What she _wanted_ was for him to just disappear. Be gone. But perhaps that was her prerogative. To apparate to Bulgaria and pretend like none of their relationship had ever happened. Lock the doors, put away her magic, and never speak of it again.

"Turn around," he growled.

Marilee fought to not respond. But his gift of authority didn't come and go—it was as part of him as his nose and despite her slow speed, she turned. Her eyes dropped to the ground.

Typically, he lifted her chin and waited until she met his stare. And then he voiced one more command.

"Speak."


	2. Chapter 2

Immediate response to his demand was halted by the dynamic strength behind his gaze. It was both intimidating and alluring. The kind of look that had you on your toes and on your knees—one of a most dangerous leader. It fed into his attractiveness, no doubt. His eyes were the darkest kind of blue—the sort that sometimes look black in the right light. Sometimes, it seemed, they darkened in accordance with his mood. They looked black now.

"What…" Marilee looked down once more, swallowing heavily, gathering her courage to ask a question she didn't really want an answer to. But she needed it. Tom's grip tightened ever so slightly until she remade eye contact. "What was that up there? No," she bit out suddenly, wrenching herself away from him. "_Why_? Why would you do that, Tom? An Unforgivable, on a student? Are you absolutely insane?" She was several feet back from him now, gesturing wildly as she all but spat her hysterical questions. "Disregarding the fact that that looked like some sort of fucking ritualistic torture, what could possibly be worth _Azkaban_ to you if you were caught? But no, no." And here, Marilee laughed, a strange laugh that disturbed even the wizard that stood across from her. "I'm avoiding the question _for_ you, now. Why were you doing that, Tom? What have you been up to?"

A brief silence fell, punctuated only by Marilee's labored breaths. The flush that had overtaken her face was gleaming in the firelight, and Tom seemed dumbstruck. Never had so many words come out of her at once. Never had she been so articulate in the midst of her admittedly passionate, though sporadic, emotions. And he was struck by her beauty in that moment. Not just outwardly, but something that emerged from inside, a door he himself had never been able to open. Virtue. Something he did not, could not, possess. Fascinating.

Useful.

"Sweetheart," he said, finally, and his face remained emotionless. Marilee didn't dare move, though the fire was much too hot on her back. "I will tell you what you need to know, but there is a price."

A price. The words settled heavily upon her—chains, open and ready to be used. Her useless pleas to the gods rose once more in her mind. Her heart, which had already been racing, sped even more. Tom wasn't, after all, giving her a choice. It was an ultimatum. And now her body was prepared to run, to fight, to surrender. Something, _anything_. And the moment hung there until he asked her something he never had before.

"Do you love me, Marilee?"

Tom's posture was straight, his gaze steady and knowing and Marilee cursed him silently. The thing she possibly detested most about him in this moment was that there was no lying to him. He'd been a talented legillmens user for years, not to mention an apt, clever student of the human psyche. What Marilee had used her entire life as a defense against moments like _this_ was rendered moot. A schooled face and a practiced falsehood were worthless. Now, when she needed them most.

Her muddled, panicked mind barely took note as he swiftly strode up to her and placed a careful hand upon her neck, caressing her throat with his thumb. Soon, with barely increased pressure, the cacophony in her mind quieted somewhat, her heart slowed. Tom didn't need magic to calm her anxiety—he never had. His control was enough, as it was now, and even though her body had told him what he already knew, he waited for her verbal submission.

"Y-yes," she whispered, and he smiled.

The heat from the fire was dampened by the chills that smile pushed down her spine. Every primitive, biological warning system her body contained was screaming at Marilee to run. She tensed; he pressed. Before her muscles could relax, Tom placed his lips upon hers and pulled her close, running his tongue across her lips until she opened her mouth in acquiescence. When his tongue touched hers, she responded shyly as the explosion of feeling she'd come to associate with his kiss overwhelmed her. _This_ was what took her down the rabbit hole. He ran his long, slender fingers through the loose strands of her hair and made her heart want to beat out of her chest. It was astounding what places they could reach together with such simple embraces.

It wasn't until she was completely soft and pliant in his hands that he spun her around and slammed her to the floor. Shock stilled her as the breath escaped her lungs in a painful whoosh. Then Tom knelt over her and whispered, "This will hurt."

He grasped her left arm and pulled the sleeve of her robes back until her forearm was bare. His wand appeared suddenly in his hand and he touched it to her skin, a pale, flawless portrait for his next act. What incantation he whispered, she couldn't tell, as she couldn't hear it over her gasps for breath and the beginnings of her sputtered questions. And then she didn't care at all because the pain that enveloped her arm was excruciating. It was as though Tom had taken an ember from the fire and shoved it up under her skin, her muscles and tendons disintegrating into a burning mess of agony.

Meanwhile, Tom was impressed as he watched Marilee undergo the branding. She didn't scream, not like most of the others. Rather, she clenched her teeth and bore it in a way that had him tenderly stroking the side of her face.

"My brave girl," she heard him murmur, when the pain had subsided enough for reality to return. He bent down and placed soft kisses upon her neck, her cheeks, and finally, her forehead. "You did so well," he whispered in her ear, and the praise sent a jolt of feeling through her. An exuberant, somewhat arousing feeling that had her simultaneously pleased and suspicious.

What had he done now?

Marilee opened her eyes, blinking away her remaining tears, and Tom planted one last kiss upon her lips before assisting her to her feet.

"Come, sweetheart," he said as he led her to the portrait hole. "I have much to tell you."


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Marilee met Tom Riddle was in the middle of her second year, when second term started and she switched into advanced potions. Tom was a year ahead of her: popular, intelligent, charismatic, handsome, and everything people would say he was decades later, reminiscing about the megalomaniac's humble beginnings. Marilee had seen him around, of course, but she'd never had any significant interaction with him beyond a nod or a glance. She was favored enough herself—her looks coupled with her family name made it impossible to be anything but. Aella Marilee. The youngest Carrow child. It wasn't a difficult role. It was one for which she had been groomed, after all, since her birth, and cavorting with other high society purebloods in an academic setting was as natural as anything. With the demure grace passed down by her mother, and her mother before her, she blended as well as she could into the background, never drawing attention to herself unduly.

However.

Marilee's pride denied her the ability to completely disappear. Hence her transfers into advanced classes, and making the Headmaster's List each term.

It hadn't escaped Tom's notice that someone of comparable intellectual superiority was only a year behind him, and in his own house. He'd heard her name mentioned before, of course, and knew the second eldest Carrow brother, Deimos, fairly well. It was a formidable family of purebloods, to be sure, but they hadn't become interesting until Marilee's arrival. And so it was, that when she transferred into his own potions class, he began to observe the girl. It was his habit to leave no stone unturned when his interest piqued, and his interest would certainly be piqued.

The first day of second term began much like any other. The bustle of sleepy students rushing off to class carried Marilee along the hallways and down the stone staircases until she reached the dungeon in which Potions was held. The atmosphere in this classroom was markedly different from the one she had attended last term, with her peers. Any conversation was hushed, a soothing change from the boisterous exchanges between her second-year classmates, and the room seemed more dimly lit—perhaps an effect of the early hour. The professor, rather than cajoling students into unwanted chit-chat, was studiously ignoring the entire class, making notes in a much-used, quite stained textbook. The entire effect was one of subdual, and Marilee liked it. The shadows near the back would be ideal for—

"Aella Carrow."

Marilee's thoughts were broken by the booming voice of Professor Slughorn. Instantly, she cringed, then with practiced haste pulled herself together and flashed a polite smile up at the large man.

"Good morning, Professor."

The man grinned, which created yet another chin amongst his many, and gestured for her to come closer. "Come, my dear girl. Let me get a good look at you."

The entire class, unsurprisingly, went silent and was watching the spectacle with mild interest, more distracted by Slughorn's exuberant volume than anything. On cue, Marilee's blush suffused her cheeks, and she lightly ducked her head as she walked to the front of the classroom, clenching her fists and cursing Slughorn's over-affability.

When she reached the lectern, she lifted her chin and smiled once more, just like she'd been taught. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," she said softly.

Slughorn's eyes twinkled and an amused grin slid over his lips. "You are the spitting image of your mother, girl."

"Thank you, sir," Marilee replied automatically.

The professor seemed thoughtful for a few moments, leaning his chin on his hand, before he straightened and said, "Welcome to Advanced Potions, Miss Carrow. It is my hope that as the year progresses you will get to know many of your older classmates. In the interest of making this transition as smooth as possible, I've asked our top student to mentor you until you are more comfortable in this setting." He then looked over Marilee's head, oblivious to the slight slump of her shoulders.

"Miss Carrow," he started, nodding behind her, "this is Tom Riddle."

Marilee's heart thumped strangely and her still-clenched hands became ice. Tom Riddle. She knew that name. She knew his face. She heard all the infatuated whispers and silly giggles of the girls that often surrounded him. She listened to teachers praise his intellect and use his work as an example of how things _should be done_. She'd also heard darker things, things repeated only after the doors were closed and everyone else had gone to bed. He was an idol, an enigma, and a person she hadn't given much thought to until this moment. But there was something foreboding, here. A certain knowledge that when she turned around there was no going back. Her mother had explained these bursts of intuition as mere fancy, but… _but_.

With great care, and a slow pace, Marilee turned around and met Tom Riddle.


	4. Chapter 4

Her first thoughts were, unsurprisingly, concerned with his looks. After all, he was handsome, and devilishly so. Thick, dark hair parted stylishly to the side; flinty blue eyes; an angel's perfect features. He was slightly too skinny, the ill-effects of being an adolescent, but it was obvious he was growing into himself.

What kept him apart from the other pretty boys of his age was his composure. It added a gravitas, a repertoire of years he shouldn't have known. It was why his peers listened to him guilelessly, why many adults did the same. It was a self-aware maturity that put its hands on one's shoulders and bespoke trust. And trust they did:

"Mr. Riddle, as I've said, is this class's top student," Slughorn burbled off to Marilee's right. "We spoke before term and he is more than willing to help you on your way."

Marilee, who'd been doing everything to avoid meeting Riddle's gaze, now found an excuse to look back at her professor. "That is very gracious, sir."

Slughorn put two meaty hands up in surrender. "All gratitude must be bestowed upon Mr. Riddle, I'm afraid. I'm just a facilitator." Then he smiled one of his big smiles, and waved toward the empty chair next to Riddle. "Have a seat, and we'll begin class in just a moment."

Marilee took a deep breath and nodded, another smile effortlessly passing across her face. "Thank you." She stepped lightly over to the front row desk, the wood scratched and warped from age, and set her bag upon it. Tom stood almost immediately and held a hand out.

"Hello, Aella. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your brother speaks about you quite frequently."

That pesky tendril of foreboding crawled its way up her spine and slid through her skull, in between her ears, whispering wordless prophecy.

Marilee raised her own trembling hand. And it was all she could do to watch the actual moment their skin met.

His hand—she'd been expecting ice, and what she got was dry warmth and a sure, firm grip. It was… reassuring. Yes, that felt fine. Normal. Safe. So she looked up and offered him a shy smile in mute response.

His pleasantly neutral expression brightened just a bit, and he pulled her chair out for her. Once they were both settled into their seats, books and cauldrons in a row, Marilee focused on chasing after her scattered thoughts, and Tom focused on her.

Deimos, the Carrow boy now in his 5th year, had, indeed, spoken often of Marilee. It was mostly in response to the prompting of interested suitors, whose questions the clever provocateur would indulge before extending a gruesome threat in the event that the gentleman did, in fact, decide to pursue his little sister. And so, slowly but surely, Marilee was immortalized as the quiet, sweet, brilliant beauty that _no one could have_.

What a sweet prize for a certain Tom Riddle.

Professor Slughorn cleared his throat and the entire class responded by quieting down and straightening in their seats. He stepped behind his lectern and swept the room with a benevolent gaze and a grin.

"Good morning, students, and welcome back to Advanced Potions, Section A. As you know, this class is restricted to second and third years, so if there are any eager first years lurking about, now is the time to leave."

A few seconds of silence, and then there was a slight scrape and scuffle as a person stood and hastily exited the room. Slughorn's smile was momentarily a smirk. "There's always one," he commented in satisfaction. Rubbing his hands together, he stepped back and cleared his throat once more.

"Today, we will be discussing a plant well-known to muggle botanists. Though, quite understandably, they have no clue as to its actual value." Here, Slughorn paused and pulled a spindly, red-flowered specimen from beneath the table in front of him. "_Ephedra_," he pronounced. "Can anyone tell me in which potion it is used as a main ingredient?"

Marilee's hand went up immediately. Tom, whose own hand would normally be first, just observed.

"Yes, Miss Carrow," Slughorn acknowledged.

"Ephedra is the main ingredient in _Magna Aliquyam_, also known as the Brain Booster Draught. Its properties as a stimulant are integral to what the potion's creator called 'intellectual energy.'"

The potions professor absolutely beamed at her. "Exactly so, Miss Carrow. Go on."

Dutifully, Marilee continued her explanation. "It was first created in 1894 by Talon Tenfeathers at a now-defunct wizarding university in Prague, and preceded an influx of new potion creations from all over the world. In fact, the International Wizards' Potions Committee listed the statistically significant increase at 32 percent, and were alarmed to note a similar rise in suicides during the same time. Of course, they soon connected the two events, and the use and manufacture of Magna Aliquyam became heavily regulated in 1900."

Still delighted at his new student's obvious cache of knowledge, Slughorn nodded and scratched at his chins. "Well done, my dear. You may just give Mr. Riddle here a run for his money." He chuckled and turned to the board, lazily waving his wand, which spilled chalk-written words from its tip. "Please turn to page sixty-seven of your textbook, and…"

His words faded from Marilee's attention. What distracted her now wasn't her boredom with the curriculum, or its ineffective presenter, but the weight of the stare of the young man beside her. It had been upon her from the moment she stepped in front of the class, and it was a tangible act that did more than just unsettle Marilee. There was acute discomfort, now, momentarily alleviated by answering Slughorn's simplistic question. What she had wanted to say was, "Give us a little more credit," but instead she over-answered, hoping without hope that he might get the hint.

And meanwhile, this Tom Riddle had been watching her without respite, and she wondered what it was that he found so captivating.

"He won't, you know," a voice said quietly.

Surprised, Marilee turned to see that it was Riddle who had spoken. Briefly she met his eyes before looking back down at the scuffed black of their table. Little marks littered the otherwise smooth surface, the after-effects of countless years of students dragging their heavy cauldrons across the painted wood.

"What are you talking about?" she murmured in response, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Slughorn. He's not going to rise to the occasion and offer us a challenge, no matter how… detailed and thorough your responses are." There was just a hint of derision, of mocking, in his tone. But it was advice nonetheless, words of wisdom from a student who knew his inept teacher too well to bother.

Marilee felt her cheeks warm up, and recalled that showing off wasn't something she particularly enjoyed in others. It was constant practice for her not to pander to her ego, which found its nourishment in academic achievement. Riddle was right to mock her. So she nodded and whispered her thanks, inwardly berating herself for her slip-up.

Unbeknownst to her, as she hadn't looked up again, Tom Riddle was smiling ever so slightly. Her responsiveness to his criticism was immediate, effective, and quite satisfying.

The Carrow girl had just passed his first test.


	5. Chapter 5

The next evening, Tom was waiting for her in the common room. He leaned casually against a column of stone, quite near the fire, gazing into its depths, lost in the designs of his—the _world's_—future. And that was how Marilee found him. She descended the last step from her dormitory and spotted him right away. Of course, she didn't know it, but it would be one of the few moments in their lives during which she would be able to observe him undisturbed.

His skin, usually so coolly pale, gained a robust glow near the fire light. It warmed his countenance. His school robes were neatly pressed, every last hair was in place, and from the look of his still fingers, he kept his nails just as immaculate. Butterflies flitted their way into Marilee's stomach as she realized this alluring young man was there for _her_. And she opened her mouth to announce her presence.

He beat her to it.

"Good evening, Aella."

Her mouth automatically replied, "Marilee."

Tom looked up, the flames reflecting eerily from his dark eyes. Lifting an eyebrow, he murmured, "Pardon me?"

"I p-p- I prefer my middle name." Embarrassed, her hand delicately covered her lips, which felt numb. The body's signal for silence.

Riddle straightened and moved away from the stone column, no expression upon his face. He stepped somewhat closer before replying, "Very well, Marilee." His deep voice resonated between them.

For a few moments, neither spoke. Instead they stared at one another: reading into, sizing up, _challenging_. Wordless analysis, certainly, on Tom's part. For Marilee, articulating the exchange was more difficult, and it would be retrospect-worthy later on. Whatever the wizard before her got out of it, however, seemed to be positive, because he finally smiled—briefly, faintly—and held out a steady hand.

"Come with me," he told her, and Marilee took the opportunity to disengage from his intense gaze.

Her own hand worked faster than her mouth, and it clasped his before she asked, "Where?"

Riddle merely repeated himself before leading her out through the portrait hole and into the dark halls of Hogwarts' dungeons.

T*M*T*M*T*M

Not once did the young wizard release her hand. In fact, the entire twenty-minute journey was spent in silence with fingers intertwined. His grasp was a thing to marvel at—never faltering, never increasing or decreasing in pressure. A small matter, certainly, to note, but his manners of presentation all patterned into one certain fact: the amount of control Tom's _digne de confiance _required was impressive indeed. And Marilee found herself entranced.

So entranced, apparently, as to be distracted. When he finally came to a stop, it was with great surprise that she found herself in the Forbidden Forest, alone with a young man who was no paragon of virtue. After a quick survey of the dark trees around them, Marilee looked up at Tom with a shiver, rational thought making its prodigal return and posing the question of the dubious safety of this situation.

Riddle pre-empted any voiced concern, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand and saying, "There's something I'd like you to see."

If that vague explanation was proffered as a source of reassurance, it failed dismally, but Marilee merely nodded and let him guide her deeper into the forest. In less than a minute, they reached a small clearing. The moonlight shone down upon the grassy space, highlighting small shrubs and bunches of light yellow flowers that grew in haphazard fashion along the ground. So far, there was nothing of special interest, and Riddle remained silent. They paused directly in the middle of the clearing, and he glanced up at the sky.

"Just a few more seconds," he murmured, and Marilee frowned.

And then it happened.

The moon hit the saffron flowers just right and their color exploded into a frenzy of glitter and gold. Shimmers of what appeared to be bronzed dust permeated the area, surrounding the two with a dancing glow of light. It was ethereal.

It was magical.

With a gasp, Marilee spun around, trying to fully experience the phenomenon. Tom watched her with amusement for several quiet moments.

"They are called Fae's Beacon," he eventually revealed. "This… event… only happens once per year. It is quite spectacular, is it not?"

She nodded wordlessly, fully enraptured by the lights. Chills suddenly ran down her spine as she felt him step up behind her and place his hands on her shoulders. He placed his mouth right beside her ear.

"I like you, Marilee."

There was a rich darkness to his voice, and it thrilled her right down to her toes. Her pulse fluttered as he brushed her hair away from her neck and spoke against the soft skin there.

"I want you."

Her breath caught in her throat and the mesmerizing light show seemed to disappear. Tom's hands ran smoothly down the velvet of her cloak, moving down her arms and settling firmly upon her hips. He then rested his chin upon the sunny down of her hair and waited.

It took several tries before Marilee's befuddled brain could manage a response. She was both flattered and nervous, and the resulting combination was effusive in its tongue-tying propensity.

"Y-y-you…" She shook her head firmly and took a breath, silently urging herself to get a grip. Her muscles tensed as she forced a coherent sentence out. "I would enjoy spending more time with you, Tom."

And, as usual, things fell into place for Tom Riddle.

"I'm pleased to hear that," he murmured, continuing to hold her as the flowers' luminescent waltz dwindled.

Marilee said nothing.

The glow soon petered out and the clearing returned to its previous slumber. The silence settled. Then, like the harking of an omen, a cold breeze rushed through the trees and blew around them. She shivered, and he smiled.

"Very pleased, my dear."


End file.
